


Kintsukuroi

by rising_goat_defeats_striking_dragon



Category: Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)
Genre: (From the Future: What Could Happen in Season 2 But Definitely Won't), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Civil War, Developing Relationship, Espionage, F/M, Foreshadowing, Historical Weather Event, Implied Relationships, Mixed Cast of OC's and Canon Characters, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Original Character(s), Political Intrigue, Poor Life Choices, Slow Burn, Small Acts of Kindness, Some Edgar Allan Poe References, Speakeasies and Teahouses, Storms, Tea, Traditional Art, Weather, ish, midnight escapades, poor communication, two people from very different walks of life learn to respect each other, what could happen in season 2 but probably won't, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24657250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rising_goat_defeats_striking_dragon/pseuds/rising_goat_defeats_striking_dragon
Summary: Kintsukuroi: (金繕い, "golden repair"), a Japanese art form in which one mends a broken object using liquid gold. The object's cracks are thus regarded as its beautifying feature.After ten years of enduring the festering wound of the Phantom Scythe bleeding poison into the streets, two citizens decide to take matters into their own hands; Lauren Sinclair, officer of the law, and Kieran White; traitor to the Phantom Scythe.Weary after their first alliance went up in flames, Lauren and Kieran are once again forced to work together in a last ditch attempt for vengeance. This is their last stand. But this time, they won’t be alone.With a historic weather event looming in the backdrop, our protagonists must battle both man and nature in an epic tale of espionage and war.As the stakes grow ever higher, La Lune must run against the clock to stop the Phantom Scythe’s second revolution.If they fail, Ardhalis drowns.AU, canon divergent. What could happen in season 2, conjured up before it’s release.Undergoing editing/rewrite! Tags will be updated as I post.Based off of Tea I from my other fic, Introspections and Snapshots. Please check it out!
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair & Kieran White
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	1. Overture I

**Author's Note:**

> this is why im sleep deprived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten and posted 11/5/20.  
> Please enjoy! Comments fuel creativity and foster motivation~
> 
> Songs listened to:  
> Zack Hemsey- Nice To Meet Me (Instrumental)  
> Zack Hemsey- Informing The Target  
> Zack Hemsey- Greeting The Menace (instrumental) 
> 
> I recommend both the instrumental as well as with the lyrics. He's a fantastic lyricist.

_Far away and over the thundering sea, the sky bent down to wed the earth. Bolts of lightning bridged the union, and the last of the birds soared out to safer land._

_They would not be returning._

_~_

Alain De Jong shifted in his seat. The air in the Teahouse was sweltering, thick and heavy with opium. Smoke lazed between shoji screens, mingled with the steam rising from delicate china. 

His tongue rested dry in his mouth. The man across from him, a formidable, heavyset individual with a cap low over his brow, had not yet initiated conversation. De Jong knew what he was trying to do, knew that this was all a part of a game. This man was testing his metal, and De Jong would not fail. 

So, discomfort aside, De Jong waited calmly.

Over the shoulder of the man across him and behind the screen obscuring them from prying eyes, a lady with immaculately coiffed hair and ruby lips crooned into a microphone. De Jong’s eyes traced the shadow of her figure. His gaze flicked to the soft turn of her hips as she strained to linger on a particularly low note. He wasn’t sure what she was saying but his shoulders relaxed into the melody despite himself.

A shift of black in the corner of his eyes had De Jong’s blood running cold. He straightened his posture and focused again on the job.

The capped man lifted his briefcase from the ground and set it on the table. 

“These are the samples of what you will deliver to your organization. They were not easy to procure, but naturally we expect a valued business associate such as you to act as a most reliable courier.”

“Of course,” De Jong said. 

“You will deliver these to a _Mr. Ryan Flemmings_ , who is also working under Apostle VII. In return, you will ensure that the Phantom Scythe holds their end of the deal. It will be on you if they do not deliver.”

De Jong lifted the teacup, finally, to his lips. “Of course,” he murmured, before taking a sip.

The man clapped his hands. “Very well, then. I will get going. My men will show you out.”

Two men in suits materialized from behind the screens, as if from thin air. De Jong had not even seen them approach. Wary, De Jong stood up, bowed, and walked briskly in front of the bodyguards, head held high. He did not want their hands on him.

He placed his tophat securely upon his golden hair and exited the building. 

With practiced ease, Alain De Jong disappeared within the crowded streets. The further he got from the Teahouse the lighter the heaviness in his chest became. 

He let out a sigh and looked up to the sun.

He wasn’t necessarily disloyal or unpatriotic to his home country of Ardhalis. Business was simply business. And if the Phantom Scythe offered benefits unattainable in polite merchantry?

Well, who was he to blame but the monarchy?

  
  


~

  
  


This is how it began. 

Rosy sunlight in the clear sky, tranquility in the belly. Things were beginning to look up, a bright horizon for the moon to retire behind. 

This is how it began.

And it would not last.

Lauren leaned her crutches on the wall beside the only locked door in Kieran’s apartment and tested the knob. 

Locked. _Well, that was odd._ Lauren tilted her head owlishly, carmine hair cascading over a shoulder. 

Behind her, the wood of the front door groaned loudly as it swung open. Kieran’s voice echoed cheerfully from the entrance. 

“Honey, I’m home!” 

Lauren jerked in surprise and rolled her eyes. _Honey I’m home!_ She thought, playing back his sing-song voice in her mind. _How cliché._

A smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head helplessly. She was still smiling when her eyes met his own as he handed her the duffel he retrieved from the cave. Kieran didn’t seem to notice her expression, but did give her a strange look when she almost dropped it. Lauren blinked. He was suddenly very close to her, closer than he usually stood. She caught the scent of something woody and pleasant. But as soon as the thought came, he was gone, already moving fast away from her. 

That seemed to be a pattern for him. She took a breath. Shook her head to rid herself of the strange moment and reminded herself of where she was. Who she was with. 

Lauren turned around.

“Still recovering, I see,” Kieran said as he sauntered further into the apartment. The floor creaked warmly underneath his feet. Paper rustled as he busied himself with emptying a bag of groceries. This was a place well loved. 

Lauren scowled. “I’m just fine, thank you.” 

She finished rifling through the duffel and followed him to the kitchenette where he was placing the last of his groceries in the refrigerator. 

Lauren shifted awkwardly. Suddenly she was very aware of what she was wearing. While Kieran leaned comfortably in his day suit, legs crossed, the crispness of his silhouette contrasted deeply with her--well, his-- simple nightshirt. She resisted the urge to self-consciously tug at it. 

Lauren began, “Thank you. I didn’t get to tell you that properly last night. So thank you.” 

Kieran broke into a grin. “Careful there, Officer. **Your debt to me is slowly increasing**! You might be forced to do something that you. . .” he hummed contemplatively and lowered his voice in mock malice, “might not like very much.” 

Lauren rolled her eyes. Any tension she had been feeling earlier eased from her. “Is that so, _Subordinate_? What were you thinking that would be?” 

He raised a finger. “You might, heavens forbid, be forced to say that I, Kieran White, am not actually subordinate to you. Nay, you might even claim that he is, dare I say. . . _superior_.” 

Lauren blanched and let out a light laugh. “That’ll be the day!” 

A silence stretched between them as their laughs died out.

He was looking at her oddly. It wasn’t something in his expression per se. Maybe his eyes. It was then that Lauren noticed the dark splotches under his eyes. His skin seemed to be a shade paler than normal. At a closer look it did seem to be his eyes. _Is it my imagination or does he look. . . unfocused?_

She debated asking if he had slept at all last night, but chose not to. Too many boundaries had already been breached in the past night. And as nice as it had been, Lauren wasn’t about to forget their reality. 

That said and done, Lauren turned to head back into her-- Kieran’s-- room to change into her uniform. 

“Lauren!” Kieran called from behind her. Lauren wasn't sure if she imagined the hesitation in his voice. 

She faced him and moved a strand of carmine hair out of her eyes to see him clearer. His eyes flickered to the movement of her hand, and out of curiosity she kept it there. 

“I’m making breakfast. You have some time before you leave for work. I’ll make you something, too.” 

Not five minutes later, Lauren found herself sitting at his table.

Kieran set Lauren’s cup of tea down before sitting across from her. The delicate scent of jasmine wafted up into the air. Soon the calm, pale veil bathing the apartment in light would deepen into the gray dreariness of a typical Ardhalis winter day. But while the morning lay over them soft as gauze, they, comfortably in silence, cleaned up their meal. 

And when the taxi arrived, she could almost forget what day it was. 

Lauren stared boredly out the window as the taxi wove its way through the cobblestone streets of Ardhalis. Grey clouds converged overhead, diminishing the last of the morning light. She tipped her head back.

_It’s going to be a cold winter._


	2. Overture II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set, the curtains draw back, and the storm edges in over the horizon.
> 
> Or: The one where everything goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited/rewritten: 11/8/20  
> After the Overtures, Kintsukuroi is going to be put out in arcs. Things will speed up very quickly soon. I'm really excited to put it out! Curious to find out what the first arc will be titled?
> 
> Stick around and you'll find out. 
> 
> Enjoy! If you do, please comment. Comments feed creativity :)

_ This is where the curtains opened, and the grand spectacle began.  _

_ Across the sea and over the horizon, a raging phalanx of wind converged, setting its path of siege towards a small island country. The last of the sun’s light disappeared behind it’s formidable expanse, and the stage was set for the theatre drama. _

~

_ 16:33 hrs, December 22nd, XX27 _

Lauren never actually thought it would end like this. 

Here in his cave, his hideout, his home, Lauren was going to die. 

There was a short silence after the final echoes of Lauren’s fury died out and before Kieran moved. One moment he was still, feet away from her, and in the next he was a viper, snapping through the air fluidly. In this instant, he morphed into the Monster. 

Lauren sucked in a breath, ready to make a move-- _ anything  _ , but suddenly he was behind her, and she was spinning like a puppet cut from its strings. 

The Monster was behind her, and she was like a fly caught in a spider’s web. She strained against his hold, but her arm was secured tightly behind her back, her wrist numbing in his vice-like grip. His other arm was wrapped around her neck in a chokehold.

Lauren sucked in a cold gasp. Shivering, she struggled to speak, “L-let me go!” 

He didn’t seem to hear her. Lauren felt the steading pounding of his heart against her back, oppressive and warm. The Purple Hyacinth trailed a delicate finger through a lock of her hair, winding it around as he moved.

Kieran’s touch now was deceptively gentle. The rough pad of his thumb rubbed the skin of her temple almost tenderly. Lauren’s breath hitched as he traced a path over her cheekbone down to the corner of her jaw. She cringed from his touch; imagined him leaving a trail of gore in his wake. Her hair, now loose from his grip, brushed her cheek.

“I  _ am _ a monster,” he murmured.

Her back slammed hard against the rock. Lauren kicked out, reaching for the ground, but the tips of her boots only barely scraped the ground. Kieran’s hand was around her neck, tight and bruising, and her throat was burning. Lauren felt the blood in her ears pounding harshly, felt the heaviness behind her eyes and a tightness winding around her head like a belt. 

Kieran’s eyes were boring into hers, shadowed and glazed over; unfocused yet staring unflinchingly at her, as if he were laying her insides bare with a look alone. 

_ He’s not in there. He’s not there, and he’s going to kill me! _

Lauren realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that whatever he had changed into, whatever mask had been torn off, the Kieran she knew was no longer there. Whatever humanity belonged to Kieran White had retreated into the recesses of his mind, and Lauren was staring into the eyes of the Purple Hyacinth. 

Panicked, Lauren lifted her arms up above her and slammed them down frantically against the insides of his elbows. His grip tightened fractionally, rough skin and dull nails imprinting his rage onto her body-

And then he let go. Lauren dropped to her knees, palms striking the cave floor with a force that sent tremors up to her elbows. 

Kieran staggered backwards, as if in shock, hitting a table. He spun around and slashed his arm wildly at the contents. Countless trinkets and miscellaneous objects crashed to the ground. A teacup bounced off the rocks, rolling to a stop and cracking at Kieran’s feet. 

It lay there, at his feet, bleeding its contents lazily into the river that cut through the cave. 

The silence that stretched between them was heavy and oppressive. Kieran’s huffing breaths and Lauren’s hungry gasps of air filled the space between them. There was a buzzing in Lauren’s ears that was slowly fading away.  _ He could have killed me. But he didn’t.  _

Lauren shook her head, loose hair flying. Droplets of water and sweat seeped into her shirt. 

Hands held defensively around her throat, she rose to her feet and slowly inched forward. 

Kieran turned to her, a distant, broken look on his otherwise stoic face. In his hands were pieces of the broken teacup. He cradled it gently, almost reverently, completely lost in thought. Liquid dripped from his palms. Some of it might have even been blood, Lauren noted. 

He raised his eyes to hers. 

~

_ 17:30 hrs, December 22nd, XX27 _

Lauren was running through the woods, boots splashing loudly in the mud. The sky was heavy with the body of a storm and such a deep grey it seemed to bleed into blackness. Lightning wove silent, jagged patterns above her. 

Somewhere in the distance, lightning struck a tree with roaring force. Lauren skidded, weaving a path through the woods farther from the area.

She slipped once or twice; had to catch herself with scraped hands. The stitches on her arm stung harshly as she ran. 

When Lauren finally broke through the woods and stepped onto the streets of Ardhalis, she was once again soaked to the bone. Mud clung to her boots and pants like a second skin. Lauren shivered and dug her nails into her arms. Rage coursed through her and her blood boiled viciously. She was getting looks, particularly from those of the more polite crowd, but she ignored them. 

Kieran’s words after their. . . scuffle, if it can even be called that, had been chilling. Chilling, and aggravating, and the more she thought of him the hotter her blood boiled. To even dare to accuse her of being so callous that she didn’t care for any of the deaths except for Anslow? How could he live with himself? 

Lauren smiled bitterly. If anger kept her warm, so what? She deserved to be angry. Furious, even. Lauren took in a shuddering breath and steeled her shoulders. 

But. . .

But he was right. 

Lauren stopped dead in her tracks. Her blurry reflection stared back at her from the puddles growing on the cobblestone street. A lamplight flickered a few yards ahead. 

If Lauren looked hard enough she could imagine that the face in the puddle was younger. Her face, rounder. And aureate eyes bore into her own, wide and unafraid. The girl smiled a smile Lauren could no longer genuinely give. Rain fell, rippling the puddle and distorting her face. 

Lauren turned away. That girl was gone.

The sight of Kieran’s cupped hands holding the shattered teacup flashed through her mind. That cup was broken. It no longer held the shape it once did, and it wouldn’t ever again. Lauren was comfortable with the shape she took now; the shape  _ Lune _ took now. There was no more Lune. Maybe that was for the better. She had her drive, and her fury, to get her through this. She  _ would _ get through this. But with the loss of progress, Lauren knew she had to make a move. And quick.

The clock was ticking.


	3. Chapter II

There were rose hips floating in their tea.

Lauren swirled the flowers with her silver spoon as she and Kieran waited for the waitress to finish setting their orders on the cafe table. The waitress’s long blonde hair brushed the wood as she leaned to set the saucers down.

The cafe was a quaint place. Entirely unfitting for Lauren’s. . . predicament. She looked up under her eyelashes to glance at Kieran. He didn’t seem to notice her staring, but Lauren knew that he probably saw. He had been polite today, at work. Meek, even. With a stab of irritation, Lauren wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of quiet apology. As if everything he’d done could ever be resolved with an apology----

Kieran was returning her look through the heavy rims of his spectacles. The bruises beneath his eyes were only partially hidden by the disguise. His dark hair was bound tightly with a ribbon and immaculately smoothed with pomade. He had at least unbuttoned his high collar, but Lauren couldn’t shake the air of falseness surrounding him.

It just didn’t fit. Even after a week she hadn’t yet adjusted.

“So?” Lauren finally broke the silence. The tension around them was thick enough to cut with a blade.  
“Are you going to say anything or did you bring me out here for nothing?” Her voice was quiet but steady, and she gripped the delicate handle of her teacup tightly.

“There is. . . nothing I can say,” he said, and she understood the meaning underneath.  
If she thought her mood the entire day had been sour, she was reaching new depths now.

Kieran dug his spoon into the cup. Droplets of hot tea spilled onto the serving plate. A small rosehip lay withered there, and Kieran idly picked it up to rub between his fingers.  
Lauren’s resolve began to flutter slightly. Exhaustion burned behind her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair and smiled wistfully.  
“I’m tired, Kieran. I have one goal. One,” she lifted a finger for emphasis, “And this goal? We share it. You want it too, for whatever reason. I don’t care to know anymore.” Lauren leaned in close and whispered, “But if you think for even one second that you can keep pulling these surprises with me, you’re in for something special. The APD is looking for Lune. And right now, we are both right under their noses. How do you expect to get out of this one?”  
Lauren’s chest was tight, and her head pounded with the beginnings of a headache. She was warm with frustration again, and stress twisted her guts.

Lauren opened her mouth to continue, but Kieran spoke first.  
“Lauren,” he said, voice soft.  
No, Lauren corrected herself, Not soft. Deliberately steady. Calm in order to placate.

“In the interest of our lives, I want to start over with you.”

Lauren was struck silent.  
When she caught herself, the corners of her lips peeled back in a sneer and she scoffed. “Oh, you-- what makes you think I would partner with you again?”  
Kieran leaned across the table and hissed, “Our lives depend on it, Lauren. I don’t expect you to like me. And I know the gravity of-- of what I did to you. But the APD aren’t the only ones looking for Lune.”

Ah. She understood why he brought her here now.

“You knew I was going to ask. That’s why you came. You must have at least suspected the Phantom Scythe were looking into Lune”.  
Lauren remained silent. She stared him down like the officer she is, daring him to reveal the rest of his cards.

The dried rosehip crumbled from his fingers.

Kieran swallowed and paused to gather his thoughts. He formed a bridge with his hands and pressed it to his forehead, sighing deeply.

The sun is setting fire to Ardhalis, and its rose-gold shadows paint them the same shade as their tea.  
“I’m not asking for forgiveness. But I can offer an improved strategy. A new battle plan, if you will.”

“Go on,” Lauren said.

“Okay?” Kieran echoed.

Lauren nods and lifts her teacup. Kieran is dangerously still, so she nods to his own cup. “Go on,” She said.

“First agree to continue our partnership.”

Lauren deliberated for a moment. “Fine,” she said simply, raising her teacup in a sarcastic toast.  
With a wry smile, he raised his teacup to clink against hers.  
“To the turning of a new leaf,” Kieran said. They solidified their deal this time around not by the shaking of hands.  
They sat across from each other, a killer and an officer, like old friends. They were far from such, but their personal vendettas sewed them together.

“So. What’s your big plan?”

Kieran's mouth pulled up into a dark smile.


	4. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE thanks to Papyrifera (Frostnite), Mhero, and lovelydramaqueen (June) for beta-reading this beast. You guys are incredible. 
> 
> Songs I listened to while writing this one:  
> Eggdog- Beak  
> The Chauffeur- Duran Duran  
> Paradise Circus- Massive Attack  
> Probably some others that I forgot.

They met again on a full moon an hour before midnight. 

A pair of wraiths danced between shadows atop the buildings of Ardhalis. They split off for a last check of the grounds before rendezvousing in the woods a short distance off from the Greychapel Teahouse. The Greychapel Teahouse was one of the crowning attractions of this part of Ardhalis. An elaborate complex spanning an entire city block, it shone brightly with the gaudy, flashing neon lights; a product of an advertisement fad from the neighboring continent. 

The nation of Ardhalis was known for its rich history and elegant architecture. Bridges and walkways sprawled over canals that fed into the surrounding ocean. Tourists came from all over to admire its beauty. But Greychapel, a district notorious for being one of the less glamorous parts of the city, was also defined by a nightlife experience unlike any offered elsewhere in the region. A lot of its vibrancy came from the colors crimelords lended; vivid reds of blood and fruit, striking shades of murderous magenta, and sultry, venomous purples. . . all a prismatic monument to the city’s tolerance of its seedier side.

Beyond the buzzing activity of the Teahouse, rich gem tones faded into the monotony of failing shops and overcrowded tenements. Churches lay battered and bare with only a carpet of dust and shattered glass to welcome the rare visitor. 

And on the outskirts of the city, on the edge of the Greychapel cemetery, began acres of winding woodland. 

Kieran was waiting for her there, the sharp edges of his silhouette blending smoothly into the frost-killed trees. Silently, they wove their way to where he hid the duffel containing their disguises. 

He shucked off his day clothes wordlessly. Lauren averted her eyes when his shirt came off, and moved to undress behind a tree. 

Kieran was lost in thought, head tilted down to look at something in his hand when she emerged, all dolled up in her disguise,

At the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, Kieran angled his head to look at her, tucking whatever was in his hand back into his pocket. The wild twists of his grown out bangs curled around his jaw in the humid night. There was a storm on the tips of their tongues, but neither were ready to let it pour.

“The vast majority of attendees will be dressed similarly to you,” he said, breaking their silence.

“Outlandishly, you mean,” Lauren bit out in distaste. “Those looking for a night to become lost in dress up like storybook characters, all frills and odd colors.”

Kieran shifted, shadow melting into shadow. “And the businessmen and women scattered throughout will be dressed more normally. ‘Though, most will be within the private lounges, where I’m heading.” 

They did not speak more than that. A few words here and there, all pertaining to the mission, and the clouds overhead only grew fuller. 

There was a sort of sickness Lauren felt when she looked at Kieran. It was a feeling that seemed to bubble to the surface when she least wanted it to, fighting to claw its way over the edge of the pot. He was what she was fighting against. Yet he was here with her, ready to risk everything, just like her. 

Lauren tried, by personal principle, to not overthink irrelevant details, especially when she needed her head in the game for a high-stake mission. But what would happen when they were done? When the Phantom Scythe was defeated? 

Would she spare the menace?

Her neck still ached, and blossoms of livid purple and sallow yellow lay hidden just underneath a layer of powder. 

A tiny sliver of Lauren whispered,  _ Yes. Do unto him what he did to you. _

Lauren twisted sharply on her heel. 

“Let’s move.”

~

Lauren dragged a painted nail delicately over her forearm. 

She could still taste the ash from ten years ago, bitter on her tongue. Dylan was strong on her mind again. Some days were easier than others, but tonight was proving to be one of the harder ones. Lauren could  _ still _ taste ash, and her rage continued to simmer.

_Focus_. _Move when the clock strikes zero._ _Five minutes left on the clock._

_ Five minutes to midnight.  _

Lauren glanced at herself in the pocket mirror. The synthetic hairs of the muted plum wig brushed her neck. A glossy black lip plumped her mouth and accentuated her cupid’s bow. Lauren didn’t look like herself, all draped in midnight, smooth as marble. Her mind drifted back again to the shattered teacup in Kieran’s cave, cold liquid dripping like blood-- _ like an offering _ \-- from his hands.

_ I will take whatever shape I must _ , Lauren thought as she tipped her head, allowing moonlight to illuminate the curve of her cheekbone. 

Tonight she took the shape of the Lauren Sinclair who should have been: undisrupted by tragedy, carefree and pliant to the night. Tonight she was a blue-blooded noble, dancing mockingly around her prey. 

As the midnight clocktower tintinnabulation finally echoed throughout the city, the grand double doors of the Grechapel Teahouse opened before her. The sharp tips of Lauren’s heels clicked against the checkered floor of the Teahouse foyer as she entered. 

A gust of air billowed around her skirts as the doors came to a shut behind her. The first thing that caught her attention was the  _ massive _ crystal chandelier hanging proudly above the foyer. It cast speckled shadows on the walls. If Lauren listened closely, she could hear the light tinkling of crystals clinking together. 

As she moved further in, some individuals in the crowd turned to look at her before going back to their business. An attendant appeared before her, inclined his head respectfully, and relieved her of her coat. Before Lauren could process, he vanished like smoke back into the crowd. 

Stepping into the Teahouse was like stepping into another world.The Teahouse was built strangely, an agglomeration of maze-like halls and seemingly random open rooms. Doors of strange shapes lined the walls, some hidden by heavy curtains. Lauren went to a sideways drooping door and exited the foyer. 

Strange lights bathed the partiers in eerie colors that slowly morphed into each shade in the spectrum.  _ Smoke rose in tendrils from under the floor to curl around their ankles, drawing gasps from some of the ladies. _ The sound of some fundamentally strange, thunderous music beat dissonantly in the distance. 

_ What was it called again. . . jazz? _

It reverberated strangely against the sharp turns of the halls. 

Lauren followed it, dodging plumes of smoke from pipes and cigarettes. Bodies carefully balancing tea pushed against her. The murmur of conversations and occasional gleeful laughs ebbed and flowed all around. 

Clocks of all sorts peered at Lauren as she made her way through the winding hallways to Lounge 6, all stopped at the same time. 12:00.  _ Just what kind of place is this? _

It didn’t seem to perturb the others, as many were examining the clocks up close. 

Lauren moved past them, huffing a sigh of relief when she turned the last corner and entered the blissfully spacious room. Lounge 6.

The parlour was a breath of fresh air. It was also very  _ blue _ . The ceiling was draped in thick, overlapping swathes of fabric in shades ranging from oceanic azures to the military cobalt of the monarchy’s royal guard. Sapphire vinyl booths lined three sides of the square room, while the bar and band took up the last side. A simple divider cut off the passage to the backrooms. White cloth adorned randomly dispersed round dining tables and servers streamed silently by, kettles steaming in their hands. They moved fluidly, like dancers. 

Or assassins. 

Lauren marked all exits expertly before continuing her assessment of the room. Her gaze drifted past couples on indigo velvet chaise longues leaning giddily against each other. 

And in the far back of the elegant lounge, Lauren's eyes locked onto her mark. 

A man with sun-kissed hair sipped tea. His hand curled daintily around the thin china handle. Face veiled by his teacup, Lauren could only see the way the skin around his eyes crinkled into a smile when he noticed her gaze. His eyes, a staggering turquoise, were at once both beautiful and unnerving. 

_ A flash of blue so sharp, like the edge of a sword. If pain had a color it would be the color of his eyes--  _

Lauren returned the gesture, painted lips pulling in upwards in a practiced smile to emphasize the apples of her cheeks. 

Alain De Jong entered her vindictive orbit. 

Her dance had officially begun. 

~

“Mr. White.”

With his back still turned, Kieran allowed a roguish smile to plaster itself upon his mouth and relaxed his shoulders into his usual posture. He turned.

“Evy. I was almost worried you weren’t going to make it,” Kieran said.

A young lady in a server’s outfit stood before him. Her dirty blonde hair was plaited neatly down her back. Her delicate chin was turned confidently upwards, soldierlike in its stiffness. Her back was stick-straight, and the only thing giving away her infiltrative position was the fact that she, well, was looking him dead in the eye. A faux pas for an esteemed employee of the Greychapel Teahouse.

Kieran’s lips twitched. 

“This mission is as important to me as is to you, sir.” Evy’s lilac eyes burned with fire-- the only emotion present on her stoic face. 

Kieran handed her his coat, leaning down to quickly whisper, “Go find Lauren. Then get into position. She’ll be waiting for you.” 

Before she could leave, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Assimilate, Evy.”

A pause. “Yessir.” 

Evy curtsied politely, as was the custom for employees of the Teahouse, and went on her way.

Kieran adjusted his tophat and straightened his cravat. His suitcoat was long enough to hide the sword on his hip. The weight of it grounded him. Kieran weaved a path through the partiers gathered in the foyer and made his way to the front desk, but not before casting a dumbfounded look at the intricate chandelier. 

A balding man peered up at him through heavily rimmed spectacles. “How may I help you, Sir?” 

He was getting called that a lot tonight. On another day, he might have laughed at the irony. But there was no humor in his heart tonight. Hell, there hadn’t been any for a while.

_ His vision burned with red fury, a pulse beating like the wings of a bird underneath his tightening grip--  _

Kieran coughed and slipped a small business card to the secretary. 

“Ah!” the man said, life springing to his eyes. “Kindly forgive me. Please head past the curtain on the right. Our men will lead you from there. May business bloom.”

Kieran murmured a quick thanks before moving back into the throng. 

On the other side of the room, two burly men examined his card.

“Put this on,” one said, hand outstretched to Kieran.

A hood. 

Kieran sighed, and put on the hood. “Is this really necessary?” 

The men didn’t respond, but they did put their hands on him and lead him. . . somewhere.

Well, it would be  _ somewhere _ if Kieran didn’t already know where they were taking him. 

Suddenly they came to a stop. Kieran scuffed his shoes against the floor, faked a small trip. “Woah there!”

One of the four hands holding him moved, and the hall filled with the loud creaking of a metal gate. 

_ Elevator _ . 

“Is this how you treat all your new patrons?” Kieran asked. 

A voice grunted, “Just the ones with your reputation.”

Kieran laughed softly. “Clever.”

The rest of the escort was silent. The lift shook and creaked with their weight. Kieran morbidly entertained what would happen if it broke. 

Well, at least the mens’ hands would be off him. 

The gate opened up and the sounds of pleasant conversation and silverware clinking flowed in. The hood came off, and Kieran stepped out into Lounge 67. A waiter ushered him in. 

“Are you expected?” 

“No, but I do intend to enjoy polite company.”

Kieran brushed past the attendant. His mark was here somewhere. If information served, he knew exactly where she would be tonight.

Kieran made a beeline straight for the bar. 

“Miss Vega,” Kieran greeted, slipping onto the open barstool beside her. 

Rhea Vega was resting her head in her arms atop the bar, a glass of cognac halfway drunk beside her. She lifted her head, tightly coiled curls falling down the back of her crimson dress. 

“I’ll take what she has,” Kieran called to the bartender. “And give her a refill.”

“The Purple Hyacinth,” She murmured, head turned to peer up at him. Rhea had laid her head back down on her arm, but she was still looking at him. Kieran took that as a good sign. 

A hand listlessly played with her long curls, an immaculately curved eyebrow raised expectantly. She was waiting for him to speak.

“What brings you to the Teahouse tonight?” Kieran lazily swirled the alcohol in his glass. By all intents and purposes, he was there for the occasional high-end indulgence that the establishment offered. No one would be the wiser. 

“Let that remain a mystery, Hyacinth,” Rhea drawled, voice light as air. 

Kieran’s grin stretched across his cheeks. He rested his head in his hand. The tilt of his head drew the wild curls of his bangs to angle his face attractively. The ends tickled his jaw. 

“Oh, come on. Share! We’re both here on leisure anyway.”

Rhea studied him before drawing up elegantly to sit in perfect posture. 

_ Ah. . . an act _ , Kieran thought. 

Rhea swayed, eyes unfocused. “Must have gotten up too fast there!” She laughed once she collected herself.

_ Or. . . maybe not.  _

“You were saying,” Kieran gently prodded.

Rhea rolled her eyes so hard they nearly disappeared behind her skull. 

“Yes, yes. Work.” She sighed exasperatedly. “It’s. . . not been easy. As you know, the nobility, with the higher status they boast, the better the business they tend to receive. I had a meeting with one such man. His name- bah! Not even important.” 

Rhea gripped her glass tightly and took a long swig. “Fuckin’ cheated me out of this large deal. It’s- I don’t think he even understands. This isn’t just some catch. This is my livelihood.” 

She rubbed her face with her hands. When she put them back on the counter, Kieran placed a hand atop hers. 

“This is what  _ we’re _ working towards, Rhea. Can I call you that?” 

She waved a hand absently and continued, “I know. That’s why I joined the Phantom Scythe. It’s just taking so damn  _ long _ . Don’t get me wrong, I trust the Leader’s judgement. All in due time. But in the meantime. . . it’s- it’s hard.”

“. . .I understand,” Kieran said, feeling sick with himself. He imagined Lauren standing, invisible, by his side, listening to every word. Glaring at the comforting hand he lended.

_ This is a mission _ .

“I understand,” Kieran repeated emptily.

~

“Why, if it isn’t little Lauren Sinclair.” 

Mr. De Jong’s chair scraped as he stood up to embrace her. He pressed a kiss to each cheek and took her by the shoulders. 

“It’s been far too long.”

Lauren nodded, smiling cheerfully. “What a surprise seeing you here, Mr. De Jong. I’m shocked you recognized me.”

_ Shocked indeed _ , Lauren thought.  _ In a dark room, while disguised, he identified me from a distance _ . 

Lauren didn’t like what this implied. 

Mr. De Jong gestured politely to the empty seat across from him and sat down. “Please, join me. I would love to catch up with you.”

Lauren flashed a grateful closed-lip smile, and slid into the chair. 

_ That wasn’t a lie.  _

She crossed her legs and rested her gloved arms on the table, midnight silk sliding on ivory cloth. 

“You were fifteen the last time I saw you,” Mr. De Jong said. He had softened into the chair, posture loose. He cupped his head with the palm of his land, lazy grin so disarming that if Lauren didn’t already know better, she would have fallen for his deceptively suave, charming aura. 

“You’ve grown into a lovely young woman. And you work for the APD now, don’t you?” 

Lauren laughed, a demure bell-like sound. She crossed her hands, accentuating the length of her arms. It was a beguiling gesture, one she had already played successfully on Harry Anslow. 

He didn’t seem to fall for it, not having moved his position in the slightest. The gleam of his turquoise eyes met her own, challenging her to make another move. 

A cold chill raised the hair on the back of her neck.  _ He can’t possibly know what I’m here for. Is he just suspicious by nature. . .? _

“I do, yes,” She said quickly, having been quiet for a beat too long. “It’s very hectic.”

“I can’t imagine.  **We’re so grateful for the work of heroes like you** .” 

_ Lie. _

Lauren saw past the faux sincerity in his eyes. The way he stared too long, like a predator. 

She cleared her throat. “So, how goes business on your end? You’re still an overseas merchant, correct?”

He nodded, then broke his gaze to wave over a server. 

A flash of dark blonde plaited in a simple braid. 

Lauren realized with a jolt that she recognized the woman who was serving them. 

“Would you like a refill?” Asked the waitress from the cafe she had met Kieran at earlier. 

_ “You won’t like this, but please trust me. My life is on the line, too. I want the same thing you do.”  _

_ Lauren bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming bloody murder. How  _ dare _ he tell her what she wants?  _

_ Even if it was true. _

_ “You won’t be able to meet them until the day of the mission.” _

_ “Why?” Lauren snapped before he finished speaking.  _

_ Kieran swallowed. “They’re as wary of us as we are of them. But I dug into them. I have reason to believe this can work out. It’ll at least divert attention from us. They’re willing to put themselves on the line like this and it might just be our only chance.”  _

_ A wary pause arose, further thickening the heavy tension between them. _

_ Lauren finally spoke. _

_ “Tell me more.” _

Lauren blinked, eyebrows furrowed. She watched the girl, Evy, slip a small strip of blank paper onto the saucer before placing her freshly filled teacup back on it. She curtsied and rolled the service trolley to another table before disappearing into a backroom. 

_ Clock’s ticking. . . _

Lauren turned back to Mr. De Jong. He flashed her a practiced smile. 

“Where were we?” He asked. 

_ Diverting the topic. Fine. _

Lauren let out a longing sigh, finger curling around a strand from her wig, and said, “I’m insulted that I have yet to be asked to dance. Care for a round?”

Life seemed to spring into the older man. He clasped his hands together joyfully. “How rude of me! Please, it would be my pleasure to dance with you.” 

“Thank you, kind sir. I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the dance that goes along to this jazz, though.”

Mr. De Jong placed his hands on her gently; one on her shoulder, another on her waist, a tasteful distance from her hip. Lauren glanced down at the position of her feet and noted with humor that she was standing on black while he was on white. 

Like a chessboard.

“That’s the beauty of jazz, Lauren dearest.” He began to guide her. “We move to our own beat.”

As if to emphasize his words, the band changed tune- and the slow, sensually drawn-out notes of the saxophone became rough staccato snarls. 

Lauren brought her mind back to her mark. In another world, Mr. De Jong would be quite the catch, she noted dryly. Tousled golden waves swept his brow, complimenting the deep tan of his skin. He was plenty years her senior but had aged gracefully.

A true wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

She pitied his children. 

They stood close, meeting in the middle to sway lightly. His striking eyes seemed unfocused, caught deep in thoughts of his own.

“How’s your family, Mr. De Jong?” Lauren murmured. “I haven’t heard much from your wife in the past few years. Such a beautiful woman. You have two young children, do you not?”

Lauren felt the rumble from his chest as he hummed in agreement. “My children. . . my work has been hard on them. I don’t see them as often as I’d like.”

_ He’s lonely.  _

Rage tightened her chest.  _ Good. Loneliness is the least you deserve _ . 

She peered up at him, eyes wide. “That must feel terrible.” 

Lauren willed tears to gather in her eyes. “They will come around, Mr. De Jong. They  _ will _ understand you’re doing what’s best for them.” 

He sighed and gave her a tired smile. It might have been the one true emotion he expressed the entire night. Mr. De Jong swiped a thumb across the height of her cheekbone where a tear had begun to fall. 

“ _ Your empathy moves me, Lauren _ .” He lied, voice soft. 

Lauren’s breath caught. The sharpness of his eyes was. . . getting to her. 

She smiled. “Of course.”

They were standing  _ too _ close. Their dominant feet, as if in a fighting stance, touched the same black tile. 

Lauren glanced toward the backroom. “Please excuse me. I need to powder my nose.”

Mr. De Jong stepped away politely and nodded. 

Lauren gave a small curtsy and meandered through the tables before disappearing behind the room divider. She passed by the kitchen, turning left to the restrooms. When she reached the door, Lauren dropped her mask, face smoothing into an impassive expression. Took a deep breath. Was it just her imagination or were her hands shaking?

Lauren shut her eyes.  _ Get a grip! _

In her mind’s eye she visualized the broken teacup from the cave. Focused in on the liquid as it dripped into the stream underneath the rock. Lauren imagined it piecing itself back together as if time had turned backwards. 

And just like that, Lauren pulled herself together.

The restroom door clicked shut behind her.

“Hello,” a serene voice called from the end of the room. “About time you came.” 

“Evy.” 

“Lauren.” 

They stared each other down, measuring the other carefully. Lauren waved the blank paper Evy gave her and shot a curious glance at the duffel. 

“Kieran said he wouldn’t tell me the terms of your volunteering unless I asked you first.”

“Correct.” 

“Am I to assume you’ll further push off telling me until the mission is over?”

A smile danced on the girl’s lips. 

“Correct,” Evy repeated. 

“Fine,” Lauren muttered, tugging on her gloves. “Is the other one in place?”

Evy nodded. “Nazir has things prepared on his end. He’s been here since the afternoon. It’s his day off,” she clarified. 

“Change,” Lauren ordered. “The clock’s ticking.”

Evy dug into the duffel and obeyed.

“How do I look?” Evy asked, sly smile slicing her cheeks wickedly. She placed the tophat upon the crown of her head. 

Lauren returned the grin. 

Evy had donned her Lune disguise. Lauren noted, somewhat impressively, that Evy had morphed from a stiff-postured young girl into one-half of the mischievous duo La Lune. She was standing loosely, dancing experimentally from foot to foot.

Getting into character.

Evy rolled her shoulders. “This is going to work,” she reassured Lauren. 

“It better,” Lauren said simply. 

~

Kieran breathed a sigh of relief.

A shrieking alarm reverberated throughout the Teahouse, throwing partiers of various states of drunkenness into a frenzy as they fought to reach the elevator or stumble their way down the emergency stairs. 

Evy and Nazir had struck on the bottom floor, where Lauren and Alain De Jong were. 

Rhea, who was quite drunk, stumbled around dumbly, pushing past people to reach the stairs.

Kieran let her find her way through the crowd. It was time for him to disappear. 

~

Lauren elbowed her way through the riot of partiers. Cries and drunken squeals mingled with the clatter of teacups and kettles shattering and bouncing off the floors. 

A chaotic cacophony of sweet, sweet vengeance.

Lauren burst into the foyer where attendants were scrambling to keep a semblance of order among the people. Police lights flashed through the rapidly opening and closing double doors of the Teahouse. Lauren heard the rapid chatter and orders being yelled from outside. She spun around, looking for the source.  _ Has something gone wrong?  _

A flash of movement above her caught Lauren’s attention. 

One of “Lune” was standing atop the mammoth chandelier, which was swinging precariously, slowly heaving side to side.They were shouting something Lauren couldn’t hear through the pandemonium. 

Lauren spun around.  _ Where’s Kieran? _ She thought in panic.  _ Is he out already? _

Lauren stumbled over fleeing drunkards and ladies hobbling on heels as she made her way towards a wall. Many tripped over the lengths of their elaborate dresses, yelps and cries for precious coats and missing significant others drowned each other out.

With one more check of the foyer, Lauren made her decision. 

_ It doesn’t matter. I need to escape,  _ now _! The police are already here, dammit. _

Lauren pushed past through the crowd struggling through the doors and sprinted through. She slipped off her heels and sped down the block as fast as her feet could take her, ignoring the bite of gravel and stray pebbles biting into her feet. 

She didn’t stop until the sound of police sirens and yelling was in the distance.

Lauren slowed to a jog and let out a breathless laugh. Pulled off the stupid plum-colored wig. 

It worked. It had  _ actually _ worked. 

Lauren allowed herself a moment so stop. Her chest rose and fell with the exertion from running. The sweat on her arms ran cool in the humidity. She tossed her head back, let out a tired laugh, and staggered forward to finish the trek back to the woods. 

This time around, Lauren was the one waiting for Kieran. He arrived looking distinctly unkempt, hair strewn about in almost funny-looking flyaways. He ran a hand over his face when he saw her.

“Did you--” he began.

“Yep,” she affirmed, too tired to ask how he’d gotten out.

“The _ fucking _ chandelier. . .” He shook his head dazedly. “They got away. The mission was a success. Somehow. I’m set to meet them by the cemetery soon. I’ll convey their report to you next time we meet.”

Lauren shifted her feet.  _ Next time _ . Exhaustion was settling deep into her bones, and she didn’t care to muster more than an eye roll in response. 

She turned to go when he spoke again. “Ah, actually, Evy told me to tell you that she’d like to see you again tomorrow. She gave me an address. I’ll be debriefing them separately, but it’s probably best you question her too.”

Kieran dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled slip of paper. “Here you go.”

Lauren's eyes flicked up and down his form.  _ Am I just tired or was there something else in his pocket? _

Lauren gingerly plucked it from his hand. “I’ll be there.” 

It probably wasn’t something to worry about anyway.


End file.
